


but we fell like rain, got lost into the sea

by caryophyllaceae (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BFFs, Breakups, Coming of Age, Drunkenness, F/M, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot, Run-On Sentences, Seven Minutes In Heaven, Sweet Sex, all lowercase, btw they're annoying as fuck but yknow whatever, elementary school kiddos, jk there's barely porn it's like five paragraphs, nerds fricking, the correct acronym
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/caryophyllaceae
Summary: alternatively: babies (assholes) growing up.dave falls in love with john but dates a million different people instead of him. john falls in love with dave but pretends that he doesn't. until he stops pretending.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puppiecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppiecat/gifts).



> this is for egbertpunch because they (she? i don't wanna get your pronouns wrong!) drew me an awesome yandere!john picture and we're going to work on a yandere sim/homestuck crossover together. i asked them for a drawing so i decided i should give them something in return. my shitty writing is all i got 'cause i can't draw! :0
> 
> song lyrics in title are from "sun" by two door cinema club.

he sits in front of you in fifth grade science class. you stare at the back of his head for two hours and throw eraser shavings in his hair when he isn’t looking so that when girls see it from far away they’ll think he has lice and then they won’t have a crush on him anymore. he doesn’t even realize you’re doing it until halfway through february, when he stops you in the hall with a frown on his face and a fire in his blue eyes and asks, “do you throw eraser shavings into my hair in science class?”

you say no, of course. he tells you that you are the biggest liar he has ever met and then he throws a literal eraser right in your face. he’s six inches shorter than you and a lot scrawnier because you’re strong from strifing with bro so often, so it bounces uselessly off of your cheek and falls to the ground. he huffs and stomps away, complaining to himself about missing recess because of you. you follow in his tracks even though you’re supposed to have detention during recess, and when you get outside you push him off of the swing he’s on for throwing an eraser at you. he throws a fit. your reading teacher makes you take him to the nurse’s office.

his knees are bleeding and he has mulch stuck to his and in his hair and he can’t move his right arm. “you’re mean,” he tells you pointedly. “leave me alone.”

you do not. because you skipped detention for recess, your math teacher told you that to make it up you’d have to sit in the nurse’s office with him until he either goes home or gets told he can go back to class. the nurse tells you that someone is going to come pick him up after she fixes his knees and then she says she is going to go get a snack quick and that the two of you need to behave. while you’re waiting, a tall girl with black hair stomps into the nurse’s office and punches you right in the face. your nose starts bleeding. “that’s for pushing my cousin off of the swing,” she says, bypassing you to lean in front of john. you think that’s his name. you aren’t very good at remembering things. “are you okay, john?”

he nods. “the nurse thinks my arm is broken.”

the girl glares at you. you’re afraid she’s going to break your bones. “do you want me to hurt this kid for you?”

he looks over at you and you’d plead with your eyes for him to say no except you’re wearing sunglasses so you can’t really do that. “no,” he finally replies, and you do not think you are ever going to be more relieved than you are now. “thanks.”

the girl is wearing circle glasses. you think they look dumb but you don’t tell her that. “i’m going to sign your cast.”

**+**

john does end up getting a cast. he gets a green one and says that it’s the color of the slimer on his shirt and explains that he loves _ghostbusters_ so he thought it would be cool. you think it’s lame but you don’t say anything about it because you’re pretty sure his cousin is lurking in the shadows and waiting for a moment to attack. you have a brace on your nose because she broke it, but no one thinks that’s as cool as john’s cast. they line up to sign it. you sign it when he isn’t watching you and make sure that it’s somewhere he won’t see it. “sorry i broke your arm,” you scribble in red sharpie. “i think i have a crush on you.”

you stop throwing eraser shavings in his hair but you still stare at the back of his head during class because watching the way his hair moves when he shifts in his chair is a lot more interesting than molecules. you start sketching pictures of the back of his head in your notebook. you color some with black sharpie. some you just shade with pencil. after a while, your entire notebook is full of pictures of the back of john’s head and you hide it underneath your bed for safe keeping and then ask bro to buy you a new one. he tells you money doesn’t grow on trees but buys you one anyway.

john’s arm is a lot better by springtime. he says it hurts a lot less. you listen in the background while he tells his friends everything, when he’s getting it off, that he’s going to keep it forever because so many people signed it. on the last day of school, you draw a picture of his cast in your notebook with all of the signatures you memorized on it. you write what you wrote beneath the picture and draw an arrow pointing to it with the word “lame” at the bottom.

**+**

on the first day of sixth grade you do your best to get yourself excited about middle school but you just can’t. all you can think about is what you wrote on john’s cast and what he might do about it. will he punch you? kiss you? all of the above? when you step off of the school bus, you find that it is none of the above. he looks you right in the shades and says, “i don’t like boys, dave,” and then he walks away from you.

by the second week of middle school you have decided that since you can never date john, you at least want to be one of his friends. you infiltrate his group by dating his friend vriska, who has long blonde hair and blue eyes and a shitton of piercings all over her face. she is the bitchiest bitch ever to bitch, but dating her means that she invites you on every outing with her friends and that you get to spend a lot of time with john. he doesn’t like you at first. it takes him a few months to finally be at peace with you being part of his group of friends, and then he starts talking to you and inviting you over to his sleepovers and his birthday party.

vriska kisses you a lot. you think it’s gross. john tells you he thinks it’s cute how close you guys are and that he wishes he had a girlfriend of his own, to which vriska laughs her sharp laugh with her sharp teeth and says, “you’re adorable, john! go get yourself a girlfriend, i’m sure there are tons of girls hiding in plain sight just waiting for you to ask them out.”

you cross your heart and hope to die that there aren’t, but it turns out vriska is right. by the end of sixth grade, john has a girlfriend. her name is rose lalonde and she just happens to be your half-sister, which neither of you speak about. she kisses john a lot like vriska kisses you a lot, and they do things like hold hands and hug and he braids her hair while she talks about books while all of you are hanging out and watching a movie.

you hate rose, but john obviously does not. he dates her all through seventh and eighth grade but you only date vriska until the end of sixth, and from there you have four girlfriends and two boyfriends and you get nicknamed “the player.” even john calls you by it and it is the worst thing that has ever happened to you but you pretend that you aren’t sweating it because you’re supposed to be a cool kid. by now you have at least twenty sketchbooks stuffed under your bed and they’re all different sketchbooks full of different aspects of john and when bro finds them he tells you that what you’re doing is pretty weird. you shrug it off. he keeps buying you sketchbooks.

rose breaks up with john on the second to last day of eighth grade. when you find him he’s passed out in his living room with a bottle of some kind of alcohol next to him and all you can think is, _get fucked, rose,_ which is probably not appropriate given the circumstances but you can’t say you really mind. you scoop him off of the floor and he wakes up when a floorboard outside his bedroom creaks. “dave?” he asks slowly, blinking his eyes. his cheeks are flushed red and he looks so fucking innocent that you file the image away so you can draw it later because when his eyes open they are the bluest of blue. “what’rey’doin’here?” he asks, and the whole thing is slurred together like one big word.

“checking on your dumb ass,” you respond, kicking his bedroom door open. “i was obviously right to do that, because here you are passed out in your living room and drunk as a motherfuck. guess your dad’s at work. you’re only fourteen.”

“y’too,” he slurs, slinging his arms over your shoulders and using that as leverage to pull himself up. you’re almost to his bed but his room is a disaster zone and you have to step over clothes and empty food bags and boxes and you can’t believe someone with a dad as strict as his would have a clean room. “hey, dave?”

“yeah?” you grunt, laying him down on his bed, but you forget completely that his arms are still around your neck so you fall on top of him and he giggles drunkenly.

“i have a crush on y’too, dave,” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the back of your head and _woah damn_ his lips are right fucking there in front of yours. “didn’even like rose. like you. but y’like vriska. don’like me.”

“i’m not even dating vriska anymore,” you inform him. “you’re drunk.”

“n’you’re pretty,” and then he pushes your head forward so that your lips collide with his and it hurts like a bitch because his braces clip your upper lip and your noses smush together in the most uncomfortable of ways. when he pushes you away, he’s giggling. he puts his finger up to his lips and goes, “shh, don’tell dave.”

you sigh and stand up. “you’re drunk. go to sleep.”

he gives you a two-fingered salute. “yessir!”

he passes out within two minutes and you sigh softly and lean down to kiss his head, to which he whimpers in his sleep and reaches out to cling onto your shirt. you sigh again and detach his hands, laying them down by his sides and pulling his blanket up to his chin. when you stand, you spot his cast from his broken arm in fifth grade, your message pointing upward, standing out loud and proud. _sorry i broke your arm,_

_i think i have a crush on you._

**+**

the first day of high school is a lot better than the first day of middle school. you’re already six feet tall and you always have shades on so everyone thinks you’re a lot older, and by the end of the day you have three phone numbers stuffed in the back pocket of your skinny jeans and five premature party invites. you really think this is going to be your year. until, of course, your plans do a sharp one-eighty, like they always do. you’re at your locker when it happens, when the chant of, “fight, fight, fight!” starts and drowns out the calls of “stop!”

your height is an advantage because you don’t have to push very far through the crowd to see who exactly is fighting. one of the people is tall and buff. they look like they’re hopped up on steroids, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they were. the other person is thin and bony, with soft pale skin and pretty blue eyes. _john!_ your mind viciously shouts at you, but it takes you another two minutes to finally process that the other person is john and that currently, they are laying on the ground with cracked glasses and a bloody nose.

and then you really get thrown back to reality because someone is shoving you to the front of the crowd, hissing, “help me, you useless prick,” and when you look over at them you find that it is john’s cousin, jade harley. she’s almost your height and she still has the same round glasses she had in first grade. “i can’t stop this asshole myself, so if you would kindly do more than just stand around like a fucking statue!”

yeah. okay, yeah, you can totally do that. jade punches the roid rage guy in the face and knocks him down, then she sits on his chest and holds her elbow against his adam’s apple. “i’ve got it covered, dave,” she tells you smoothly, way to calm for someone who just punched a steroid-pumped upperclassman right in the face. “help john!”

you nod and turn on your heel. john is lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, and you scoop him up in your arms even though you’re wearing a white shirt. you shove your way out of the crowd and make your way to the nurse’s office, praying that she hasn’t left for the day yet. once you’re in a quieter part of the school, john smiles up at you. his buckteeth are covered in blood and so are his braces but you don’t mind because all that matters is that he’s smiling at you. “my hero,” he mumbles softly, head thumping against your chest. “my knight in shining armor. i love you lots, dave.”

and then he passes out. you sigh and shake your head and tell your heart to slow the fuck down.

**+**

impressively enough, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend by the third week of school. she’s an eleventh grader with the longest brunette hair you have ever seen with the tips dyed pink, and she is obsessed with cuttlefish and the ocean and her name is feferi peixes. she tells you that she thinks you’re a great guy for helping out someone in need and stopping a fight and that you’re nicer than pretty much every other guy in the school. she has to get on her tiptoes to kiss you and she calls you her “cuddlefish” and she holds your hand underneath the lunch table.

you draw her sometimes and even give her her own honorary sketchbook just for sketches of her and her alone, but you still draw pictures of john every single day. he sits a few seats ahead of you in algebra and spends most of his time doodling on his work. you sketch his eyes, his nose, his mouth, and anything you like about him which is pretty much everything. bro has to buy you twenty fresh sketchbooks a week just to keep up with you, but it isn’t like he doesn’t have the money so you don’t think he really minds.

your first time is with feferi piexes in the back of bro’s rusty, disgusting pickup truck. it’s messy and sloppy and you pull her hair too hard and she tugs on your dick just a bit too hard, but you laugh the entire time and she puts your shirt on and cuddles up to you when it’s all said and done. your phone goes off a few times, but you choose to ignore it. it probably isn’t important.

**+**

it turns out your phone going off was important.

you take feferi back home and tell her she can keep your shirt, and when you pull out over her driveway and check your phone, you have a few missed voicemails. they’re all from an unknown number that turns out to be jade harley, and each message grows more urgent as you go on, from a simple, “hey, i think something’s up with john, we’re at the hospital,” to, “dave, you fucking motherfucking motherfucker, john is in the hospital, i don’t care what you’re fucking doing right now, get your bitchass over here!” and you floor it and make it to the hospital in record time.

the parking lot is filled and it never ceases to amaze you how many people can be sick at once and then you realize you should probably be steering your mind in a different direction. hospital. john. something horribly wrong. you walk up to the front desk and the woman behind it smiles at you with the smile of someone who is tired in more than one way, and you smile the same smile back and say, “i’m here to see john egbert.”

she tells you his room number and then informs you that only family is allowed to visit, which leads to you telling her that you’re his brother, which leads to her chuckling lowly at you and saying, “no, you aren’t, but i can tell by the way you’re moving that you love him. go ahead back. if anyone tries to stop you, tell them aranea sent you through.”

you nod quickly and rush off, completely forgetting to thank her, telling yourself that you’ll thank her later despite the fact that it is highly unlikely you will. you jam your finger into the elevator button eleven times in a row and the man in a wheelchair behind you is looking at you like you’re insane but it barely registers because you’re too preoccupied with getting your ass in the elevator and getting to john and jade.

you’re sprinting down the halls when you make it to john’s floor, sliding around corners so hard that your shoes squeak painfully as they slide around corners. jade is in the last hallway, sitting on a chair with her head in her hands. “i’m here!” you announce in a whisper-shout, because this is still a hospital. jade looks up at you and softens around the edges, hopping out of the chair and flinging herself against you. “he’s fine,” she breathes. “perfectly fine. he just had a very severe asthma attack. he’s getting breath treatments now. do you want to see him?”

“is that even a fuckin’ question?” you ask, and she smiles carefully.

“no,” she responds. “it never is with you.”

**+**

john is sent home the next day, but he isn’t allowed back at school for another few days, until the doctor is sure he’s better. jade offers to pick him up but you wave her off and do it instead, because jade’s “pick him up” means ride her bike there and make him stand on the metal bar on the back and hold on tight to her shoulders. you can drive. not legally, but you can. feferi offers to come along and you let her. john is waiting at the edge of the curb in a wheelchair, and you pull up right in front of him and hop out. there’s a nurse with him. she offers to help, and you appreciate the sentiment, but you tell her that you can get him yourself.

you lift him out of the chair and he holds tight, hand winding up in your shirt. feferi is looking down at the two of you, a forlorn look on her face, like she’s sad in the worst way to be sad—the kind where you can’t cry, can only ache.

**+**

feferi breaks up with you on the first day of tenth grade. she smiles and tells you, “i’ll miss you, cuddlefish, but you don’t love me,” and then she gets on her tiptoes and kisses you for the last time and turns to walk away. you decide to skip school that day. bro doesn’t even care when you walk back into the house after you literally just left, and he still doesn’t care when you slam and lock the door to your room behind yourself. you find your lighter and the sketchbook with drawings of feferi and then you light it on fire and watch it burn before you pour a glass of apple juice on it and throw it from your tenth story apartment.

you mix a song about how broken your heart is for irony purposes, even going all the way and singing it in a texan accent, the one you try so hard to mask, and then you curl up on your bed and watch _mean girls_ on constant loop for the next seven hours. your streak is broken by someone opening your door slowly. you stop the video and shut your laptop. john is standing in your doorway, half-smiling, chewing his bottom lip like a piece of bubble gum. “oh, hey john,” you say, sitting up. “what’re you doing here?”

“i just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he says, still lingering in your doorway, like the spirit of broken hearts past and present and probably future, too. “i heard feferi broke up with you. i know breakups are pretty rough. i got drunk when i was fourteen after my girlfriend broke up with me, so.”

you want to tell him _i know that,_ but you’re too much of a coward to do it. “yeah, breakups are the fuckin’ worst,” you respond. “wanna watch _mean girls_ with me?”

he grins at you, and it almost makes you feel better. “sure.”

**+**

you hate seven minutes in heaven, but somehow rose has roped you into it. you ignored her for a year after she broke up with john because he did it, too, and you wanted to support him, but he started talking to her again at the start of tenth grade so you did, too. rose is walking around the room, collecting everyone’s name in a hat. her and jade are grinning at each other like they’ve got a plan, which terrifies you to no end. “john, why don’t you pick first?” rose asks. he nods and smiles, bright and wide and prettier than the sun and moon and stars, and then he dips his hand into the hat and pulls out a name. rose takes it from him before she can open it.

“he got dave,” she says, and now the entire room is smiling, like this was all one big plan that they orchestrated. maybe it was. you put nothing past rose lalonde. “to the closet, boys.”

and so here you are, pressed tight against john egbert in what has got to be the smallest closet in existence. john gives a little giggle, says, “i don’t think we’ve ever been this close, dave.”

you snort. “ya’ think?” you ask. you have to do this. you have to tell him how you feel, you’ve got to do it now, rose gave you a gift and you need to take it. “uh, hey. i draw pictures of you. i have been since fifth grade.”

holy fuck, why? you’re cool, suave, and you said that instead of saying something cool, and fucking fuck, now john is going to be creeped out by you. “really?” he asks. his breath is soft and his skin is even softer, and he tilts his head to look up at you and his eyes are beautiful, breathtaking, god do you love this boy. you understand why feferi broke up with you, now. understand why she said you didn’t love her. because you didn’t, because you’ve loved john all  along and apparently you just love kidding yourself. “could i...can i see them?”

fuck.

“yeah, sure."

 _fuck._ you dumb idiot.

**+**

john is sitting on your bed while you rummage around under it, pulling out sketchbook after sketchbook until finally, you’ve reached the end. “these are all of me?” he asks, with this look of utter surprise on his face and you’d be damned if it wasn’t the cutest thing you’ve ever fucking seen in your entire life. you nod your head. “of...my face?”

you shake your head, now. “no. some are of your eyes. some are of your lips. some are of your hair. it all depends.”

and then he is launching himself at you, knocking you onto the floor with surprising force for someone so tiny and then he is kissing you and tears are dribbling over your cheeks while he does and you can’t tell if you’ve done the right thing or the wrong thing because he may be kissing you, but that doesn’t shadow the fact that he’s crying. you let him pull back first and he rests his forehead against yours, breathes over your lips and he’s wheezing, panting, raggedly breathing and you reach into your pocket and hold his inhaler up to his lips, helping him take a puff. “you had that in your pocket?”

“always do,” you respond. “when we were fourteen, you had that asthma attack that sent you to the hospital. i don’t want it to happen again.”

by this point he’s sobbing and you think it’s good but you aren’t entirely sure so you lift him up and stand up yourself, lying him down on your bed and sitting at his feet so you can give him some time to cool off. “oh my god,” he hiccups between sobs, whimpers, pants, wheezes, and you keep his inhaler in your hand and help him take a puff if his breathing gets too bad. “you love me. you love me so much. i’m so sorry, dave. so, so sorry.”

“when we were fourteen, i found you passed out after rose broke up with you. you kissed me and told me you liked me too.”

“fuck,”

“when you got into that fight in ninth grade, i carried you to the nurse’s office. you told me you loved me and then passed out.”

“fucking fuckity fuck fuck,” and you’re laughing while he sobs and when he stops you’re on him, sealing your lips against his in a searing kiss and he’s murmuring “sorry, sorry, sorry,” against your lips and you’re telling him that it’s okay, that you aren’t mad.

his hands in your hair are the best thing you’ve felt in years.

**+**

you may have lost your virginity in ninth grade, but by the end of tenth john still hasn’t lost his. you’re eating pancakes he made for you because you slept over since his dad was away on business and preferred john had a friend over. “who are you gonna give your virginity to?” you ask him, like it’s casual smalltalk, like you don’t already know the answer.

“well, i mean,” he says, and his cheeks are flushed and he’s gorgeous and you want nothing more than to ravage him right here, but the sexiest thing about sex is consent. “you, i was hoping. i was just assuming you were going to make the first move, but you haven’t, so.”

you push yourself away from the table and leave behind two whole pancakes. you know why? because pancakes come second to sex. especially sex with your beautiful, loving, perfect boyfriend who you’ve been chasing after for long enough. he’s leaned against the stove in a cheesy “kiss the cook” apron and you make sure the burners are off before leaning down to capture him in a kiss, which he chases after greedily when you pull back. “that good for a first move?”

he nods. his lips are swelling and he looks completely and utterly dazed. “yeah, i. yeah.”

“wanna go upstairs?”

“refer to my last answer.”

you nod, now, hoisting him over your shoulder. he kicks his legs and screams girlishly, but he doesn’t put up any sort of struggle to get away. “then we will go. it is time for sexytimes.”

he giggles, hits your back and calls you a loser. you snort a laugh in return.

**+**

“how far are we gonna go with this?” you ask while you’re standing in the middle of john’s bedroom, kicking your legs frantically in an attempt to get your skinny jeans off while john laughs at you from the bed in nothing but boxers, because his cargo shorts and _con air_ shirt were a lot easier to get out of than your skinny jeans. “we goin’ all the way? my dick inside your body?”

he kicks his legs like a petulant child and whines, “gross, dave! we can go all the way if you never say that again, ew. lube and condoms are under my bed. stop being disgusting if you want access to my backdoor.”

you roll your eyes and throw your jeans and shirt across the room like they’d done you some great injustice, and then you kneel down and search under john’s bed, coming back up after a few minutes with a condom and a small bottle of lube that is apparently blue raspberry flavored, which sounds pretty cool but also pretty weird. you pop the lid and lather up your fingers before nudging them against john’s thigh. he kicks you in the face. your nose does not bleed, thankfully. that would’ve ruined the moment. “cold! let it warm up, you ass!”

“fine, princess,” you respond, waiting until the lube gets warm on your fingers to prod against john’s, as he put it so eloquently, backdoor. you’ve got your finger in to the first knuckle when he starts writhing and wrapping his hands in your hair like a safety blanket. you wait until his thighs untense to push it any further, and once you’ve got an entire finger inside of him, you say, “congratulations, you have made it to one finger.”

“fuck off, dave.”

“yeah, reasonable,” you say, and he tries to give something back, probably a snarky reply, but you curl your finger and he keens, back arching up off of the bed. you stretch him slowly, only adding fingers when he asks for more, and by the time you’ve got four inside of him he pulls your wrist and says, “enough.” you stick your tongue out at him but oblige anyway, removing your fingers and rolling the condom on, coating yourself in lube. you push in slowly, because he whimpers literally every time you get .01 inches inside of him. it feels like an eternity before your thighs hit his, and then you start rocking back and forth slowly. john is wheezing. you make him take a puff of his inhaler, which you placed safely on the bedside table.

“can you go any faster? geez, i’d think a snail was fucking me.”

you narrow your eyes and then thrust forward as hard as you can, and john cries out and pulls you down by your neck to kiss him. you start a steady pace after that, and you know this isn’t going to last long because everyone finishes fast their first time. it’s just the facts. “fuck me, dave,” he breathes quietly, and it’s so quiet that you almost think you dreamed it, until he says, again, a little louder, a little more forceful, “ _fuck me,_ dave. harder.”

“anything the boy wishes,” you say, throwing your back into putting this boy into the throes of orgam. he coos girlishly once you’ve set a ruthless pace, fingers knotting and tugging at the fine trail of hair down the back of your neck. he’s pushing back against you with stuttering movements, gasping, “dave, please, _pleasepleasepleaseplease_ —” and then he whines, high and loud, and spends himself on your stomachs. you aren’t far behind, and once you have the condom tied off and thrown in the trashcan you fall on top of him.

“this is gonna get so gross,” he says. “and you’re heavy. get your fat ass off of me, dave.”

“you’re the one with the fat ass, but whatever,” you say, rolling off of him. even though he said not even ten seconds ago that this was going to get gross, he immediately turns on his side and glues himself to yours. you pepper his face in kisses and he bats at you, tells you in a high voice between giggles to _stop it, dave!_ “dude. i love you.”

he grins at you. his eyes are closed. “hella.”

“you’re a little asshole.”

“i love you, too,” he responds, yawning. “even though you’ve been drawing creepy stalker pictures of me since we were ten.”

“they are not creepy, dammit. they are professions of my love, over and over again. do you know how many times you’ll have to say i love you to get in line with the times i’ve said it, through actions and shit?”

he sticks his tongue out at you and curls himself into a little ball. you wrap your arms around him and kiss the top of his head. his shampoo smells like cake batter. or maybe that’s just his natural scent, since his dad bakes so many cakes. whatever. his hair smells good, is what you’re getting at here. he starts snoring after a few minutes of silence. you blow a breath out that rustles his bangs and say, “i love you so much, you shit.”

“hella,” he mumbles sleepily.

“will you go the fuck to sleep already?”

“yeah,” he responds. “yeah, okay. hella.”

you roll your eyes, but you still rub his back and play with his hair while he sleeps, well into the evening.

(when he wakes up, he asks you to carry him because he’s sore. you tell him to walk. you end up carrying him, anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! my carpal tunnel was acting up when i was around halfway through but if i had stopped i would've broken the flow, and breaking the flow means i would've deleted everything i had and restarted completely.
> 
> today is a shit day 'cause i lost my best friend of seven years but johndave, man. johndave is the shit. it is my cure.


End file.
